Getting the Fix
by format16
Summary: Nightwing was subjected to a high concentration of recreational morphine during a kidnapping. In these troubled times he turns to the drug again. With worried team members, a disappointed father, angry friends and an entire city in his hands there's no end in sight. Now with the sudden return of Deathstroke, there's no telling what the future may hold.
1. Prologue

Getting the Fix

Prologue:

"Robin to Nightwing," Tim's voice sounded calm enough, even through the monochrome speaker.

"Robin to Nightwing," Concerned, now. Still posed, but a trained ear could easily hear his anxiety and quiet, doddering voice.

"Nightwing, Robin to Nightwing," Obvious worry, and fear. The sinking tone that tried to remain professional, clashing with the youth of the hero.

"Batman to Nightwing. Report immediately." The blaring indication left by the transformation of the voice made him hunch his shoulders and dig his head into his hands.

"Nightwing report now, or we will take drastic measures." The concern in his father's voice sent guilt like a plague, infecting and spreading throughout his entire body, starting from his heart and bleeding out.

It had to be the worst part of these kinds of situations. It wasn't the fear of blacking out in your enemy's grasp; it wasn't the vulnerability of being submitted to the harsh bondage always complementing captivity. Not even the beatings, interrogations, or various forms of torture. It was even worse then allowing your teammates to see the damages as disinfectant, stitches, braces, casts, and bandages were applied.

It was after everything had finished, and you returned, alone, to your room. The lights out, you are left alone to your thoughts and must somehow ease yourself to sleep. Insomnia steals the only sanctuary of peace left, leaving you with a red, blinking light of your communicator.

Message after message you can hear the growing worry and panic set in. With each beep, an escalating downpour of guilt cascades into your very pores. You can to comfort them, to hold them and reassure them. Don't worry, please. It ends up fine. It wasn't worth the worry.

Usually the rejoice and relief of the rescue, of embraces and hands on shoulders, threatening death if the event ever should happen again ease this state of depression. Not this time. This time was different.

There was no diabolical villain that stole him away from the quiet lull of normalcy. He wasn't torn away from his responsibilities because of impending chaos that left him incapacitated. This time the foe was himself. His own weakness, his own error.

Dick watched as the needle rolled away, under the bed. The addicting poison filled his veins as withdrawal started to wane. It was all he could take, and soon he collapsed into a huddled mess of tears and cries.

To be continued.


	2. Chapter I

Chapter I

"I think you're pushing yourself too hard. I know that we need you, and that Bludhaven needs you, but you're spreading yourself too thin!" Tim's eyebrows furrowed as he leaned over the car door.

"We talked about this, Tim. Let's just get through this dinner. It'll be hard enough as it is," Dick slammed his car door closed. It looked out of place, rusting and old, in the refined Wayne manor driveway. He didn't make enough on a beginning officer's salary to support both an apartment and a nice car, and he wasn't about to take money from Bruce.

"I'm just saying. Maybe you should stay here for a while. Just to calm down? Maybe you can patrol as Robin again." Tim followed him to his trunk and grabbed his duffle bag of a suitcase. Tim was always so sweet. The moment he heard the gas guzzler of a car's engine he ran out and hugged his adopted brother through the rolled down window.

"Yeah, that'll work out. One night there's a thirteen year old in the old red and black, the next, a full grown man. The thugs in Gotham are stupid, but not _that _idiotic." Dick took back his bag and tossed it over his shoulder. He looked up at his childhood home. It always looked best like this, snow falling in the shadow of the stars.

The snow built up in his combat boots as he walked up the driveway. Most would think the warm light protruding from the windows to be inviting. Dick, however, saw the impending debacles sure to take place. He wished he could capture again the feeling of safety and rejoice in seeing his family again.

"Then come with us as Nightwing, Why are you fighting this so much?" Tim closed the trunk and caught up with him, galvanizing his brother from his reminiscent stare at the manor. ". . . Dick?"

"Huh?" Dick had to remind himself to keep conversation. "Oh, yeah like the great Batman would allow an outside hero into his city." God, he hated talking about this with his naïve, hopeful little brother. He could almost see disappointment stealing away his faith. "Besides Timmy, I wouldn't steal your glory." He smiled and scuffled the younger's hair and walked past him and started climbing the stairs to the main entrance.

His brother stopped in his tracks. ". . . You know he doesn't think of you like that." His voice was barely above a whisper.

His brother pretended to not hear it and walked straight ahead. Before he could even reach for the door handle, the door was pulled open. Alfred stood at the poor with an absent-minded smile on his face. One of the worst parts of leaving was how much he knew it had hurt his grandfather-like figure.

"Master Richard, it's good to see you again." Dick smiled at the butler and walked into the main hall. It had only now set in that it had been an entire year since he had been here. Still, though, nothing had changed.

"Good to see you too, Alfie." It felt so odd to use such a childish nickname in a now deep, matured voice. The word had slid off his tongue without his consent. He didn't mind to be reminded of his childhood, he had expected such, anyway. "I think I'm gonna drop my stuff in my room,"

"Of course sir, dinner will be served at 7:00," Dick didn't miss Tim's slightly annoyed expression. He knew he would have to face the third member of the household, but he would put it off as long as he could.

He climbed the stairs up to the second floor quickly, and auto-piloted his way to his room. It was almost eerie that everything remained exactly where he had put it, but still managed to be well dusted. He mentally tipped his hat off to Alfred. Dick threw the bag onto the floor and collapsed onto his bed.

It was probably the worst decision he could have made, as he was quickly reminded of the lack of sleep he'd been getting. He allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment, then hopped off the king sized mattress, once again evading sleep.

Checking his watch, Dick paced his room. He had to somehow spend an hour in his old bedroom. His old desk caught his eye, sitting in the corner he could almost see a shadow of himself hunched over it working on some kind of work.

He smiled as he sunk into his old chair. He remembered the late nights he spend in it, but also the weekends spent cross-legged, controller in hand fighting zombies with Roy and Wally. God, he missed those carefree days.

Dick pulled opened the drawers and started cleaning out the memories within. He found old reports, both school and team-based ones. He had millions of forms from senior year, left there in fear of throwing away something important. Glancing up at his diploma now framed above him, he crumpled those into the filling waste bin. A picture of an amusement park day-trip made him pause and smile. Roy was glaring out at some unseen annoyance, Wally grinning with his arm hooked around Dick, who was pulling an unwilling Jason into the camera's sight.

He had almost forgotten about that day. Even if Jason hated it; he had been the trio's new baby. He couldn't believe it had already been two years since his death. Dick sighed and rubbing his temples, put the photo in his bag, deciding to keep it and bring it back to his apartment.

He continued to dig through the various things he had kept in his desk. His waste bin was now almost spilling over. He was going through old covert mission reports when his hands trailed over a file that hadn't been labeled. He'd been going through copies of reports for almost an hour now; all of them had been labeled. Being the forever-organized boy he was, he decided to read, label and file the case.

Opening the cream colored folder he took note of the date and tried to remember what happened. As he started to read the case, someone knocked at the door. Slowly tearing his eyes from the page he closed it and answered, "Be down in a second," He packed the folder into his bag along with the picture, deciding to do it later,

"An hour means 60 minutes, you've only been gone for a year. And I know you haven't forgotten that Alfred takes punctuality very seriously." Tim playfully chastised through the high-end wood.

The former Robin opened the door and looked at his brother. "Then I guess we're both in trouble, aren't we?" He knew Tim wasn't sent, but rather came as an excuse to talk to his distanced sibling.

Tim groaned and started trudging down the stairs. "I can't just win, can I? Just once would be nice." Dick laughed and followed to the pending dinner.

* * *

"You know that's not what I meant. It just makes more sense for you to start a career with Wayne Tech here in Gotham, and patrol at night. You would have more time to train the team, which should be your priority. Their success is entirely in your hands." Dick glared at his green beans and started stabbing them with his fork. The formalities had ended and now they were full swing into a lecture.

"I bet it would 'make more sense' then, for me to move back with you?" He said now, meeting Bruce's eyes.

"I never said that, Dick. Economically, yes. It would also suite your needs better. But I understand that you're almost 19 and want to live alone."

"Why can't I live alone in Buldhaven?" Tim looked thoroughly disappointed with his head against his fist as he played with the chicken.

"We don't have to discuss this if you are going to be taking everything with such hostility." Bruce ate his third bite of his meal, having been in a debate for the majority of the dinner.

"No, no, no. I want to know, why can't I stay in Buldhaven. You know, the city with a higher crime rate then Gotham? The one in more need of help." Dick crossed his arms in front of him, staring Bruce down.

"That's exactly my point."

Dick's eyes widened and continued to stare. "And what point would that be?"

The philanthropist sighed. ". . . Look, if _I _have two partners and can barely keep Gotham above a state of chaos, then . . ." His glare remained, daring his father to finish his thought. ". . . Then how can you possibly single handedly handle Buldhaven?"

"See? That's my point! You don't trust me! You think I'm still an incompetent, little kid!"

"You know that's not true. You're twisting my words to serve your point." Bruce put down his silverware and now focused entirely on his son.

"No, I'm just translating your bat-language into the vernacular. Just admit that you don't think I can handle myself! Ever since that one run in with Deathstroke, you've been hyper-paranoid and ridiculous! JUST ADMIT IT!" The entire conversation had now pushed Dick over the edge as he screamed and pounded his fist against the table.

"FINE! YES, I DON'T THINK YOU CAN HANDLE YOURSELF!' Bruce lost his calm demeanor in the face of his screaming son. "And quite frankly with your work with Aqualad, Artemis' death and the team's current state I don't think you are ready for being leader either."

Silence took its place after that. "Thanks for dinner, Alf." Tim's small voice tried to recapture peace.

After a few moments of Dick being stunned from the sudden reality the conversation transformed into, he stormed out of the room. He dashed up the stairs and grabbed his bag. He knew he wouldn't be staying for long, but he had at least expected to stay the night. He turned off the light and headed for his car.

"Dick, we are not finished talking." Bruce said as Dick reached the foyer. He wanted to scream at him, to pound his fists and punch the wall. He knew he had to get away before his anger dissipated, and hurt took over.

"Please Dick, it's Christmas Eve." Any anger he had vanished seeing Tim slumped over in the archway. He felt his rage return as he looked into his brothers lost, hopeful eyes.

He returned his glare to his father. "Do you see what you do? Jason was right about you!"

"I haven't done anything, you are causing this drama. And don't you dare mention Jason!" Bruce tried to remain calm and turn things around. Still, his eyes were quickly turning red.

"Fine Bruce. Fine. I don't care what you say. I'm done." Dick stormed past Bruce, trying to avoid making eye contact with Tim or Alfred who had now walked into the room. Dick took a final look at the room "Merry Christmas," And slammed the door.

* * *

Dick let his head fall into the steering wheel as he pulled into a parking space outside of his apartment. He couldn't believe he had allowed things to spiral so out of control like he had. Finally, his childhood nightmare had come true. He'd become the Grinch, and ruined Christmas.

Voices broke him out of his depression. He opened the window and listened, quickly recognizing the sounds of a mugging. He changed into a spare suit in the pack of his car with speed that would rival Flash, and fled the car.

Nightwing crouched down, and peaked around the corner. It seemed to be an inter-gang scuffle. He stayed close to the wall, in the shadows, and approached the group. He quickly recognized the language they were speaking as Italian, and made a mental note.

Nightwing took one breath before taking down the first thug. "Damn it! Everyone scram!" The assumed leader sprayed mace at his face. Nightwing blocked most of it, but the beginning stream still made it onto his mask and trailed down to his nose. The pungent toxin distracted him long enough for the thugs to escape.

Nightwing looked around for them before clutching his head in his hands, "Damn it! What is wrong with me?" He muttered under his breath. He was about to return home when he saw a plastic bag with a needle and a glass bottle. Dick picked it up and examined it. Morphine, it must have been left by the gang. He decided he'd return it in the morning. He needed the bonus his boss was sure to give him as a rookie turning in something like this.

As soon as Dick returned to his apartment, he allowed himself to collapse onto the pull out sofa/bed. He felt a migraine coming on; his eyes must have still been red from the irritating smell of mace. He looked at the plastic bag in his hand, deciding to take a closer look. The liquid was clear, in an unlabeled glass bottle.

Unlabeled . . . it reminded Dick of the report he found. His blues eyes scanned the room for his clock, seeing the time was now 11:09 PM. Dick sighed again; he hadn't gone to bed this early in years. He could spare the time to read a case study.

He glided the folder out of his bag. The photo had snagged itself on the zipper. Richard quickly removed it in an effort to save it from falling to his absent-mindedness.

As soon as he started reading he knew what case it was. One of the missions that lead to his split with the 'Boy Wonder: Bat's Sidekick' gimmick. The team infiltrated a small group of thugs working for the Injustice League. The tip they had received had greatly understated the exact number of thugs, however. They were outnumbered and quickly overtaken.

They took each member into a different cellblock. The guards watching over Nightwing, Robin at the time, had different plans then the rest of the group. Robin was knocked unconscious. By the time he'd awoken, he was well under the effects as what would later be identified as morphine. Euphoria flowed through his veins, and his problems completely dissipated. By the Justice League arrived, it had started to wear off.

Bruce had wanted to pull Dick from the team. They had never figured out why he had been singled out. On the paper; Aqualad wrote that the guards probably were under the same orders and took initiative for their own purposes. But, the chances of thugs taking that large of a risk, wasting their drugs, and putting themselves in danger for a laugh were slim to none. 'Daddy-Bats' searched for an answer for a solid two months before abandoning his quest.

Dick never told Bruce that for some time after that, he yearned for that toxic dream where nothing mattered. If he had, he didn't even know what Bruce would do. He would have been pulled from the team, maybe even from crime fighting entirely.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he labeled the file and returned it to his bag. He looked back at the photo lying innocently on his sheets. He picked it up and ghosted his fingers over Jason's face. He remembered when Roy was still carefree and 'harmlessly' rebellious. When Wally was still his best friend, and didn't scorn him every time they met.

He remembered when Jason was alive

The young hero looked out the window at the falling, snow. In Buldhaven, it looked more like soot. Everything was so messed up now. It was Christmas and he was alone after returning from a screaming match with his father. Dick looked over at the framed picture of his parents beside his bed. He climbed over and held it to his chest. God, how he missed Christmas with them. Things were so much simpler back then.

The migraine was worse now; it was all he could do to stop from bursting into tears. He turned to his side and closed his eyes tightly. The boy tried to will himself into sleep but he couldn't. His problems filled his head, and something was digging into his side.

He reached under himself and pulled out the drug bag from before. Briefly he entertained the idea of using it. But then, he thought of his father's disappointed face. What would Bruce say if he found out?

His eyes narrowed. What has he not said? He already admitted that he didn't trust him. He had burnt that bridge. What use was saving the glowing embers?

Just once would be fine, an isolated incident. It was Christmas, after all.

* * *

**Hello my dear readers! I'm so excited for this story and I'll be updating soon. I love reviews and I promise that you will speed up the process if you do review. I really look forward to feedback, positive and negative...and neutral I suppose as well. I really love the people who followed/favorited the story with such a pathetically short prologue, I wasn't expecting it. Also, small shout out to my first two reviewers: starwarsfan15 and TheInvisibleGurlz, this chapter was for you!  
**

**Please review! And, thank you! **


	3. Chapter II

Chapter II

Dick rubbed his temples, still recovering from the siren of an alarm clock that had just disturbed his precious slumber. He had been out all night working as Nightwing. After considering what he had been considering, he had to redeem his values through vigilante work.

As he finished his daily morning routine he found his eyes straying towards the full bottle of morphine. Walking over to it, he glared at the poison, before slipping it into his bag. No matter what thoughts might have crossed his mind the night before, the idea should leave his already cluttered mind when he turned it in.

As the young officer grabbed his keys, the familiar alert tone once again sounded from his phone. Deciding it better to deal with the repercussions of the disastrous holiday dinner later, he headed out the door to start what would surely become a long workday.

He really only was required to work for four hours today. He was covering for a friend who was supposedly sick. Though, it was probably much more of wanting some extra time to work off the holiday-induced hangover. It wasn't horrible to work right after Christmas. He sure as hell didn't need free time that would allow his mind to wonder to the sticky situation that unfolded before him the night before.

As he neared the entrance of the police department, his fingers found their way around the glass bottle in his pocket. Surely, he would be rewarded for bringing in such a find. He nodded at other police officers as he walked to the locker room. But was it suspicious? He was only a rookie. His job consisted of paper work and occasionally assisting in small operations. He wasn't even working last night. Why would he have been in the middle of a fight?

The material of his uniform made his heart heavy. It was his duty to report this, regardless of the repercussions. The chief had noted his drive and capability on the field. He was sure to get a promotion soon. He could wait. He could even leave the bottle on his boss' desk anonymously.

"Do we even screen our snitches? That fucking tip was a complete waste of time. Meanwhile, a triple homicide- unattended! Christ, people! Does anyone care? Personal lives second! I don't care if it was Christmas, we lost precious time. " Dick walked into the meeting room to find the chief walking around the room, coffee in hand, hair in disarray.

The young recruit cautiously walked towards a fellow officer, Robert Dean. Looking at the chief, then back to Dean, he gave him a questioning look. "A few weeks back we got a tip of a drug exchange. Not huge, but the perfect size to gain a foothold into a gang's operation. Turned out to be a complete bust. And the consequences . . . " He shut his mouth as the chief passed them, still ranting.

In a hushed whisper, he continued. "We had too many officers on it. No one responded to a call that ended in three homicides. A family. On Christmas, and they had a baby girl. I just . . . We all are taking it hard."

The vigilante stiffened. He prayed that he was overthinking it. "Where, exactly, was the bust supposed to be at?" He could feel his palms sweating. Please, please. Don't be on the Short North.

"The Short North. Figures. That's where they all are." Dick felt his stomach form a knot. Officers had gotten there late, and waited too long for the criminals he had already dispersed, and had spent too much time looking for the bust. Three people dead. "Are you okay, Grayson?"

He masked his guilty conscious. "Just thinking about the family. The little girl . . ." He trailed off, returning his gaze to the front of the room. The chief was now hunched over his desk, typing furiously into the computer. Dick had to start his work in about seven minutes. It was now or never.

His steps were slow and steady. He twirled the bottle in his pocket. _'This is what is right. You have to do this. This is what's right.' _The mantra was repeated in his head as he reached the desk. "Sir."

The older of the two met his gaze. "Grayson, I don't have the time for a new idea of yours. If it's truly important, ask another time." He had been given an easy way out; he could walk away. Would it really be so terrible that he waited a day or two to turn the morphine in?

"Sorry sir. I just wanted to express my sympathies for the. . . the family." The chief's face softened, if only slightly. Dick marched away too quickly, not wanting to hear his response.

The bottle seemed to turn to lead, weighing him down. How could he have done that? He just kept it. '_This was a bad time. I could have exposed my identity as Nightwing. Which could lead to even more deaths of innocents. Just do your work, Turn it in another time.' _Consoling himself, the former acrobat dropped in his chair and started his work.

* * *

"Recognized: Nightwing B01." The electronic voice filled the mountain as he entered. Connor looked up from the static on the plasma screen at his old friend. Nightwing walked straight to the computer and started checking missions and team statuses.

Superboy walked up to him, and waited. When the boy was Robin, he would always warmly greet everyone in the room. Since Jason's death, the mountain turned into strictly business for the young gypsy. ". . . Hey Connor."

The clone's face remained blank, expecting more. "You're here early. Do you ever sleep?"

"You know I do. I've been too absorbed in Blüdhaven. Young justice needs more attention." He never looked up from the screen. "Why haven't there been any group training sessions since two weeks ago?" He grunted as he fingered through reports. "This is how teams become weak."

"No one scheduled one." Nightwing looked up, ready to apologize when Connor stopped him. "Because our leader has spread himself too thin. But if he would just delegate to the many, very competent people willing to help him . . .-!"

"No. I can handle this. " Superboy was very, very worried for his friend. ". . . I'm sorry, Connor. I don't mean to take this out on you." Nightwing's communicator beeped. The tone signaled an encrypted message. Right. He'd forgotten about his scheduled correspondence with Kaldur.

"Damn it. I need to leave. Sorry Supes." He started towards his room when he heard the computer announce an incoming signal. In his haste to leave, he accepted the call.

"Nightwing. Return to the cave immediately." He could have screamed. Batman, of course he couldn't prolong this. The raven-haired boy's priorities were nothing but distractions according to his adoptive father.

"I don't have time for this, Batman." He glared at the monitor and prayed that Bruce would reassign whatever mission to someone else.

"Nightwing, immediately. " His voice was threatening and commanding. In the time that Dick had left for Blüdhaven, he had never called him back to the cave, with the exception of the Joker fiasco. Still, Kaldur could only talk at most every three weeks. The meetings were random and abrupt. Could he afford to waste this chance? What if something wrong was going on with Artemis and Kal?

What if something was wrong with his family? Nightwing briskly walked to the zeta tube, but not before seeing Connor's worried expression as he disappeared into the machine. He looked like he wanted to ask him something, but couldn't find the words.

Dick inwardly winced. His chest seemed to be weighed down with guilt from keeping so much from the young clone. He promised himself that as soon as this Light situation was finished, he would sit Conner down and tell him everything.

As he started typing the code for the Cave on the zeta tube's wall mount, his frustrations grew. Here he was, ignoring the once a month correspondence with a teammate currently acting as a double agent. And for what? Another of Bruce's lectures?

His fingers froze before erasing the code entirely; he then proceeded to fill in the blank space with his apartment's code. Batman would wait. Kal needed him. The world needed him.

* * *

"Yes, I am relieved as well. But I do fear that while we a nearing the end, we are entering the most dangerous part of this mission." Kaldur's calm voice echoed through Nightwing's speakers. "In any case, this will most likely be our last transmission."

"If there was anyone I would trust in this situation, this would be it you two." Kal seemed collected, poised. He and Dick had shared many meetings identical to this. Once, the Atlantean admitted to these sessions being the only time he had now to let down his guard and feel safe. He seemed tired; his face mirrored Dick's.

Artemis, however, remained in the background leaning against a wall with her arms cradling herself. She had asked about Wally when they first started, but now had become completely silent. "Do you have any other concerns, then?"

Kal's eyes looked to Artemis: debating. Dick rolled closer to the monitor. "Actually, yes. A few weeks back, someone joined the Light. He's currently residing here, in the submarine. I feel that he's not entirely impressed with the Light's mission. Perhaps, he has another motive that I'm concerned about. His demeanor seems to reflect that of . . . –"

The video automatically muted as an emergency communication appeared on Nightwing's screen. Dick was mixed between annoyance and fear, he and Bruce so rarely used the word 'emergency'. "Kaldur, I'm sorry. I need to leave. I trust your judgment with this character."

He saw Artemis especially look desperate. This double-life was most certainly taking its toll on her. Now, she would have to resume her position among the villains until further notice. Dick forced himself to end transmission and open Batman's message.

'_Report to the Cave immediately. Robin needs you." _

Dick felt his heart began to beat rapidly. He stood up; knocking the chair over in the process, and all but ran to the closest zeta. What the hell happened to Tim?

* * *

_Hello, everyone! A thousand apologies about the extremely long wait for such a short chapter. This fanfiction recaptured my interest and hopefully, I'll be able to write more often. I hate this chapter, honestly. But I wrote it out quickly and wanted to post something for those of you who have been waiting for it. If you hated this chapter, I promise the following ones will be much improved, and also longer._

_Remember, reviews make the world go 'round! Believe it or not, reviews make every writer write much faster. It was actually a PM that convinced me to keep writing this! I hope all is well and for those of you in the Midwest, good luck surviving winter storm THOR (I'm here with you on that.)! _


	4. Chapter III

Chapter III

'_Recognized: Nightwing B01.' _

Dick bit his lip as he walked into the cave, scanning the room for signs of anyone. Where was Tim? What happened? A _beep _from a nearby heart monitor sent his head quickly to look over at the entrance to the medical unit. His legs froze, as he clenched his fists. _'No, Tim.' _Please, let everything be alright.

He slowly walked over to the room, dreading what was to come. As he approached, he could see Tim's feet draping over the end of the hospital style bed. Dick's heart pounded as he summoned the courage to fully assess his surrogate brother.

Tim's mouth was covered in a breathing mask, with oxygen flowing through. His arms were attached to many monitors and general surveillance machines. He couldn't see any bandages or wounds, however. Dick furrowed his eyebrows. If Tim wasn't hurt, why was he unconscious?

But the most confusing component to the mystery was that his arms were fastened to the bed with white, medical bonds. His eyes widened searched for Bruce; he needed answers. He stalked towards the bat computer. Sure enough, there sat his father. ". . . Bruce."

He swirled to face his son, his face void of emotion. "Last night, after you left we had an argument. Tim was upset, he went on patrol – without permission." Every word was pressed through his lips without feeling, in an unbiased report. "He ran into Scarecrow."

'Dick looked towards the medical wing, '_damn it, Tim!' _The young boy was much more like him then Dick sometimes realized. He reached his hand up to rifle through his hair, "And the restraints?"

Bruce showed a hint of anger as he quickly swerved to face the computer again, fingers assaulting the keys. "When I found him he was unconscious, I brought him back here. When he came to, he started screaming. He thought you were dead, he wouldn't believe me and I couldn't contact you, we had to sedate him before he hurt himself."

The blame was unspoken, but filled the air around Nightwing, suffocating him. He shifted his weight from leg to leg, trying to think. His throat was dry. ". . . When will he come to?"

"Soon, hopefully." Bruce rose from the desk, and strode towards the medical room, with his distant son following behind. The older man checked various machines, "Dick, I didn't call you here to lecture you. But this has gotten out of hand. You don't even answer my emergency messages. You know this is unacceptable."

Dick collapsed onto a nearby chair, which squeaked, under his weight. "Look, Bruce. I _did _respond to your emergency message. I didn't respond to your first message because I was preoccupied." He rubbed his hand across his face before massaging his temples.

"What was so demanding, then?" Batman knew that something had been occupying his son for some time now, but he hadn't even been able to discover the nature of it.

"The team, Bruce." Nightwing deflected.

"The team that hasn't had any scheduled training sessions or missions in weeks?"

"Oh, so you've been keeping track of that, have you?"

"I know something's going on, Dick. There's no sense in keeping something from me." Dick could see the worry on his father's face. His aging face, filled with stress and sleep deprivation.

"There's nothing going on." Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but a groan from the hospital bed interrupted him. Nightwing rushed passed him, and stood close to Tim as his eyes fluttered open.

"Dick?" Tim's relief showed through his hazy eyes. "You're fine, you're fine," He repeated, as if convincing himself.

"Yeah, buddy. No need to worry." Dick looked down kindly at him.

"I'll leave you two alone for now. Tim, don't strain yourself. Dick, we will finish this conversation later." As soon as the elder left, the tension in the air seemed to dissipate.

"What conversation?" Tim's words were still slightly slurred.

"Nothing, Timmy. Don't worry about it." Dick moved his brother's hair out of his face.

"I'm so tired, Dick." Tim was struggling to keep his eyes from closing.

"Then sleep. I'll stay with you as long as I can." He wanted to promise that he'd be there until his brother wakes up, but he knew it would be a lie.

"Okay. . . " Tim trailed off, his eyes closing, the heart monitor returning to a steady beat. The gypsy boy brought a chair over to the bed, crossed his arms, and drifted into a well-deserved slumber.

* * *

"The whole family together, huh." Dick's eyes snapped open, as he jerked up, falling out of the rolling chair. The lights were out in the small medical bay. "Heh, spook you, Golden Boy?" That voice. It rang through the room, without actually having a clear source. But it sounded so familiar.

Dick stood up quickly, circling his brother's bed. "Who are you?" Only one person called him Golden Boy, and he was long gone. Whoever this was, he knew too much. This was a threat that needed to be dealt with immediately.

"Who do you think, Dickie Bird?" A muscular form emerged from the shadows, just outside of the room. "We need to talk." The intruder looked towards him for the first time, green eyes shined straight into Dick's.

Jason's green eyes.

Dick couldn't believe what he as seeing. Before he could begin to process the sight in front of him, the figure rushed over to the zeta beam, and began typing in coordinates. "Jason!" Dick roared as he ran to him, just as the delinquent ran through the bright light, with the acrobat following quickly after.

He recognized the buildings as downtown Gotham, he didn't really know what else he would have expected. "You're gonna have to go faster than that!" He heard his target's voice from above, on the rooftops. Dick reached for his grappling gun, and soared to the top of the buildings.

Before he realized it, he had been chasing Jason for miles, and he found himself racing to one of the most emotionally significant places on the earth for him: the graveyard. "Jason! Please, where are you? What the hell happened?" Dick turned in a circle, looking for his brother; a noise directed him to his left. He ran over to the general direction of the noise, and then started honing in on the exact location.

Jason was out of sight completely, he had lost him. Dick let out a quiet growl, deep from in his throat. Had this been a dream? A trick? Jason was dead. He couldn't have seen him.

Dick ran his hand through his hair, and looked towards the sky. The clouds pulled around the moon, promising a new coat of snow in the morning. He allowed his head to fall forward, and return to his youngest brother on bed rest, before his eyes traced the stone below him.

_Mary Grayson. December 26, 1970 – March 12, 2007. _

His parent's grave. He usually would have visited for Christmas, or at least the day after, for his mother's -. His train of thought abruptly ended as he remembered his mistake. He had missed his mother's birthday. He had gotten completely absorbed in his work, and had forgotten about his own family.

'Imi pare atat de rau, Mami. Mi-e dor voi doi atât de mult . Nu. . . nu cred ca i se poate face acest lucru mai .(I'm so sorry, Mom. I really miss you both. I . . . I don't think I can do this anymore.) He fell to flowered earth and gently placed his hand on the tombstone.

He had let the police force down, his team, Bruce, both his brothers, and now his parents. Everything he had built was crashing down around him as he realized how deep he had fallen. He would give anything not to feel this right now. The weight from his bust of the previous night suddenly became very heavy in his pocket. He reached down and pulled it from his belt.

"_What do I have to lose?"_

* * *

_Author's Note: I'm back! I will be updating at least before New Years, and I have plotted out this story! Thank you for all who reviewed. _

_p.s. It was only through reviews that I found the inspiration to write again. _

_Please Review! _


	5. Chapter IV

Chapter IV

". . . miraculous turn of events from last night. Bludhaven Courts are in a scurry today, scheduling court dates and living arrangements for this unheard of intake of criminals. BPD officials believe that the mastermind behind the recent kidnapping spree of minors is among them and now in custody. The victims' families are surely rejoicing as all minors have been placed back in that care of their guardians. As always, BPD is reluctant to praise the illegal activity of vigilantly behavior, however many assert this inspiring turn of events is the work of Bludhaven's own recent hero: Nightwing. Critics turn to expert Tom Hardy- . . ."

Dick squinted through foggy eyes, watching the polished anchor parade through the headlines on his glaring screen. He left the television on last night, and he was lying on the floor. Flashes of fistfights and the police office reflected through his scattered mind. What did she mean a giant intake of criminals? Bludhaven had a notoriously high crime rate, but few individuals actually received time for it.

The anchor had attributed it to him? They usually avoided even saying his name in the paper, but a drawn sketch appeared in a small frame next to the reporter's head. He desperately needed to sort through his memory. Perhaps he could contact the police department as his civilian identity gain more inside information. It was possible that this was the first part of a well-hidden scheme from a clever villain, taking into account previous actions from vill-

"Aaugh!" He grunted, slamming his hand down on the carpet for support, the other grasping his left thigh. His thoughts were immediately cut off when he attempted to get off the floor by a stabbing pain in his leg. How had he not noticed that as he awakened? Examining the source of the pain, he looked down to see dried blood and the unarguable remains of a gunshot.

His eyes widened impossibly, what had happened the previous night? How was he left so completely lost as to his own actions? This was different than the colossal '15 hours' event the Justice League encountered. He wasn't sure what the best course of action was. He carefully lifted himself off the floor; repressing any noises of pain he might have let out, and found his phone lying on his bed.

It was already 5:00. He rubbed his temples with one hand, staring at the phone in disbelief. Luckily he didn't have any BPD work that day, but he hadn't slept that long since he was drugged from a kidnapping when he was still Robin.

He let out an audible gasp suddenly, 'the morphine'. Tim was infected with fear gas. He went to the cave to check on him, and then left. Why did he leave? Closing his eyes, Dick dropped the phone and rubbed his head, as if summoning the memories from his delayed brain.

Jason. He'd seen his dead brother; he'd seen an older version of his dead brother, who raced him to his parent's grave. Then he'd-

Nightwing bit his lip hard, drawing blood as he saw his backpack strewn on the writing desk. The hobbled over to it and jabbed his hands through the pockets until he found the confiscated bottle and partnered needle. His blood drained as he realized it was empty. He'd willingly injected himself with a recreational drug.

His hands shook slightly. He wasn't that kind of person was he? Surely he wasn't. Both of his parents and Bruce had always held the same position on any sort of drug use and its dark implications.

This was an isolated incident. He angrily threw the bottle in the trashcan, along with the unsheathed needle. He vowed to himself, silently, he'd never do such an act again. It wasn't wicked to do it once, during highly stressful events. His parents would have understood.

Within the confines of his young brain, an image of his mother's disappointed eyes gazing from heaven's light made their way into his mind. He chocked lightly, and pushed the thought away. He leaned down and picked the needle out of the trashcan, placing it hidden away in his drawer until he could find the appropriate disposal materials.

He needed to stop thinking like this. It was already 5:00, he was surely needed in the mountain. It was not in a hero's job description to sleep in at any time. Or at least, it wasn't in his.

* * *

"_Recognized: Nightwing B01"_

"Hey, well if it isn't the man of the hour!" He heard Beast Boy yell from the living room. "You're a star on the news today. Nothing like a little publicity to remind me never to doubt our fearless leader. You had me worried when you hadn't scheduled us for anything, speaking of maybe we should-"

"Nightwing this is incredible. We've never accomplished something like you did last night even as a team. What happened?" Batgirl stood up as Nightwing entered the common living area. Most of the team was assembled; he seemed to not have interrupted much, aside from the television.

"Never mind that, Beast Boy's right, everyone could use some training. I want you all in the training room, I'll start the simulation once you've gathered there, suited up." He stood tall, hiding his injury, needing time to take care of it in med bay.

"You sure 'Wing?" He heard Blue Beetle's smile in his tone, "Oh yeah, I've been waiting for this for a long time!" The team seemed to already have been excited from the news about their leader in the media. It had been too long since they had formal training sessions, and everyone was a buzz, practically running to the locker room.

Nightwing sat down at the computer, preparing the scenario. "You really aren't going to tell us anything from last night?" He hadn't noticed Superboy, along side Miss Martian. "Five years ago you would have cackled at the screen and told us every detail about your victory. " Superboy was staring at the floor as he explained his suspicions.

"I'll tell you my incredible story later, we have work to do." He smiled lightly, seeming to appease the two enough to convince them to leave and change clothes. Eventually the team made their way to the training room, and Nightwing started the simulation.

He made sure they were completely distracted as he made his way to the hospital standard room. The action made him feel even guiltier. It was his job to observe them, to tell them how they could improve, not to babysit them.

He ground his teeth as he cleaned the wound. He had so much to sort out; he might have to speak with his adoptive father. Dread was clear in the sigh that slipped between his teeth as he finished wrapping his leg. If he thought any fight or lecture he'd had before was bad, this was bound to be worse.

Jason's matured voice rang in his ears as he left the med bay. Something was going on here larger than he was considering at the moment. For once, he admitted that he needed his father. He needed Batman.

* * *

_Speaking of feeling guilty, hi guys! I know the chapter is short, but hopefully it enough for your guys to review! I'll try to get the next chapter out soon, thanks for hanging in there with me! Love you all! _


	6. Chapter V

Chapter V

He was absolutely drained of any energy his eighteen-year-old body still possessed. He'd finished the training session with his teammates, which seemed to appease them for the moment. Still, he was worried about one of Young Justice's absent members.

He limped to the med area, gritting his teeth as he began treating his leg. The bullet seemed to be a specialty one, something not typically found even in the seediest of black markets: built deliberately to cause lasting effects on the victim. The metal was made to shatter shortly after impact, causing pieces to break within the newly caused wound, and sheer themselves within the flesh. Shortly after starting treatment of the injured leg, Nightwing abandoned the quest of removing the small metal bits. To allow the wound to heal properly, a trained professional would need to remove every small piece by hand, something he did not have the skill to do.

He hated whistle blowing his own injuries, much preferring to lick his own wounds without the disappointment or sympathy of others. Especially now that he was the leader and therefore example for a group of younger heroes. For now, he decided to treat the wound as best he could, wrapping it tightly and praying it didn't cause further nerve damage before he could get to a proper doctor. Gritting his teeth, Nightwing trudged towards the training room, wondering if the halls had always been this long, or if the pain in his leg was affecting his perception.

The female, computerized voice announced the presence of his surrogate father. Dick straightened as best he could, ignoring the stabbing pain in his thigh, and briskly entered the living room, which contained the zeta tube, consequently, his guardian as well.

"We need to talk." Batman seemed rushed, worried. The frowns in the section of his face not hidden by the dark folds of his mask were more clearly defined than usual. "Where is the team?"

"They just finished training." As angry as he was with Bruce, he was concerned, and still valued what the man had to say. Batman rarely visited Young Justice anymore, that action in itself gained his attention.

A quick survey of the area to confirm his son's word and Batman nodded slightly. "Robin's body is not accepting treatment." The elder's words caused Dick's eyes to furrow, "Each time he sleeps, he is woken by gradually increasing levels of traumatic nightmares, which have now turned into a waking paralysis."

"Are to assume then that Scarecrow has created a new toxin?" The vigilante put his worry for the boy aside, keeping a calm mind to take care of the very pressing matter at hand. He'd learned the hard way that being emotional in these sort of situations only served to cause him to make mistakes.

"Even more troubling, I looked into finding Scarecrow to interrogate him. He has been detained in Arkham for months, even more so, in solitary confinement. I'm unaware of any communication he could have had with the outside world to have done something to this intricacy."

"We need to look into other suspects then-"

"No, I am looking into other suspects and possibilities. I am telling you this so you understand and agree to the implications of this. Robin needs someone with him to keep him from inflicting harm to himself or others. In the state he is in, he cannot be in the care of someone who cannot know his identity."

He wanted to yell at the man before him again, "So that someone being me. Why do you think I wouldn't agree to help: that you would need to go to these extremes to convince me to help him when you know how much I care-"

"That is not all." Batman continued his explanation, "I don't know what happened to you last night, but your city's officials are overwhelmed to say the least." The news anchor's words echoed in his head upon hearing this, "I believe this magnitude of intake of prisoners will overwhelm the guards enough to cause large scale prison riots and escapes. The amount that of criminals you booked should not have been possible, Nightwing."

He looked away for a moment, not wanting to think about his actions last night- or at least the ones he could remember. "Finish your threat."

"I'm not threatening you. I want you to send the Young Justice team supervised by League members to Blüdhaven to contain the escapes, which have already began."

"You want me to send out my team to my own city while I stay home."

"Robin needs you, Nightwing. You are determined that you are a leader and an adult, prove it now by putting your pride aside and doing what is best for not only your city but for those you care about."

There was too much weighing on this decision, not enough time. "Superman could watch Robin, or one of the many other heroes who have done similar-"

"What is wrong with your leg?" Batman had narrowed in on the unusual way the acrobat had been standing, leading his eyes down to the wrapped limb. If anything, Dick was shocked at the amount of time elapsed without the World's Greatest Detective noticing the injury.

"Regardless of that, I need to help you find whoever assaulted Robin-"

"Answer my question Nightwing." The seriousness of his voice coupled with his worried glare had Dick feeling as if he was nine years old again.

"Bullet wound." Batman began walking to medbay, silently telling his son to follow. Part of him deeply wanted to confide in his father. Tell him about the ever more taxing undercover mission with Kaldar, tell him about seeing Jason, about the morphine. His heart longed for the time when he wouldn't hesitate to tell him anything.

But that wasn't now. Nightwing winced on the medical table as Batman examined the wound, "You shouldn't be standing on this, it needs to be cleaned by a professional. You realize this could cause permanent damage."

It wasn't a question, rather a reminder. "I'm taking you back to the Cave, Agent A won't be able clean something like this- I'll send Dr. L as soon as she is able. In the meantime, stay off your leg, and watch over Robin." The tone in his voice left no room for debate.

* * *

"Dick, what is going on?" Nightwing hadn't seen the redhead in the manor in years. "Why aren't you in Blüdhaven with everything on the news-"

"I don't have time to explain." Dick was sweating, fingers twitching every so often. _"_You need to stay here and watch Tim, I have to go help." He led Wally up the stairs towards Tim's room.

Tim had been twisting and turning through terrible nightmares, and Dick had been completely unable wake the other, left helpless at the sounds of his small moans. At the same time, every news channel had broadcasted nonstop of the chaos that Blùdhaven had broken into. It seemed as though every villain he'd encountered in the crime infested city was out to cause hell.

Kaldar had contacted him, sending him into a near panic. It had been a single message, not encrypted in the slightest. That aspect of a breach in their established protocol only increased the urgency of the text, 'Contingency F.2': the code designed to covertly alert Nightwing of both Artemis and Kaldar's double agent identity being discovered. He wasn't able to reach the Atlantian after that. Every plausible scenario played like a horror film in his mind as to what the two were currently facing.

He couldn't think, to top it all off. His body had begun to shake and sweat, mind becoming jittery and unfocused. It didn't take him too long to identify these symptoms of being from withdrawal, although, his conclusion made little sense given that he'd only used once. He cursed his stupidity, blood feeling colder as he realized that he had injected himself with a chemically unidentified substance found on the street. Whatever had been in the small, glass vile- it couldn't have been normal, recreational morphine.

Nightwing would not be held captive, witnessing this as a bystander. He begged his old friend to come watch his brother, so he could leave to gain some control back. Eventually, the retired speedster did appear. "What's wrong with Timmy?" Wally was stricken, seeing both of his dear friends in such states

"I can't explain night now, Wally. I'll be back as soon as I can. Please just take care of him." Upon hearing his friend plead with him, Wally swallowed his questions that plagued him, cursing the hero business once again. This was why he left. This was not a way to live.

The speedster bit his lip, leaning against a wall in the youngest of the Batclan's room. "I'll watch Tim." He felt helpless to any hero situation. He knew what Dick felt, the crushing weight of knowing lives will be lost if you're not there to save them.

As fast as his injured leg would carry him, he fled to the cave, changing into Nightwing quickly. Wally would most probably receive a visit from Dr. Leslie as well, which would confuse and perturb the redhead more. There wasn't enough time to handle it, it was too small of a detail for his concern at the moment.

He zetaed to the tube nearest to his apartment, climbing the stairs quickly, hands shaking as he reached the door. He had to get Blüdhaven under control and contact Kaldar, as well as find the person responsible for the trauma his brother was now facing.

He pulled the used needle and morphine from the trash, enough left for another use. With the pain from his injured leg and withdrawal causing him to shake, he wouldn't be able to save the team of which he was the leader. Now was not the time to consider moral implications and consult with ethical ideas- he'd been able to do so much the previous night. This wasn't for him, he repeated to himself, it was for everyone in danger.

His mantra didn't dull the pain of the needle or the cold liquid as it entered his bloodstream, however. He felt the pain of his leg fade away, and the shaking subside. As if he moved to the backseat of his own mind, he leaped out the window, eyes clouded under the effects of the drug.

* * *

"Robin to Nightwing," Tim's voice sounded calm enough, even through the monochrome speaker.

"Robin to Nightwing," Concerned, now. Still posed, but a trained ear could easily hear his anxiety and quiet, doddering voice.

"Nightwing, Robin to Nightwing," Obvious worry, and fear. The sinking tone that tried to remain professional, clashing with the youth of the hero.

"Batman to Nightwing. Report immediately." The blaring indication left by the transformation of the voice made him hunch his shoulders and dig his head into his hands.

"Nightwing report now, or we will take drastic measures." The concern in his father's voice sent guilt like a plague, infecting and spreading throughout his entire body, starting from his heart and bleeding out.

The entire night, his brain had moved faster than ever before. The first time he'd used the drug he hadn't remembered the night. His memories were now painfully clear. He'd watched every small movement his trained body made as he fought his way through the night.

The young adult was back in his small apartment once again, curled in on himself. There were so many criminals on the street. Under the effects of the drug, he'd been stronger than before, faster. He'd knocked out most of them, with the exception of three of them. Those three he'd…he had…

He'd killed three men.

Tears fell down his face, as he brought his knees to his face. His heart throbbed in loathing and disappointment. Batman had been there, he'd seen it. He'd been yelling for Nightwing to get back to the cave, to leave the mission to them, and then Dick had taken one of his escrima sticks and electrocuted the man in his chest and didn't release him until the criminal drew his last breath.

He'd ran. Killing two other men on the way. Nightwing ran through the sewers, throughout the entire city, attempting to throw off his adoptive father. It was then that the drug started to realize what he'd done.

Perhaps he'd returned to his apartment knowing it would be an easy place for Bruce to find him. He needed him. He wanted the other to give him whatever solution that could fix this. He didn't check if the men were really dead, they could have somehow lived. If not- he needed his father to convince him of reasons to go on in his now homicidal life.

He heard the window being lifted, footsteps reaching the wooden floor. He didn't know what he expected Batman to do. Silently bring him back to the cave? Watchtower? Disown him on the spot? The boy inside of him prayed his father would understand. That he'd take the other in a parental embrace, cover him in his cape and allow the other to break down.

He didn't expect his head to be yanked up by his hair. He looked through blurred eyes to see a terrifyingly familiar black and orange mask so close to his own face. "Checkmate, apprentice. Checkmate." He could hear the triumphant grin in the man's voice. Nightwing was left with that thought, as his vision went black after Deathstroke delivering a single, efficient blow to his head.

* * *

_I am back. This story has recaptured my interest, and I have some killer ideas for it. I know this chapter was rather all over the place, I swear that the following ones will be world's better._

_Thank you so much, those of you who reviewed, without you, this chapter wouldn't have happened. I look forward to updating for everyone! I'm adding something new this chapter, I'm giving myself a deadline for the next update, and I will without a doubt be back by then. _

_Next Update Deadline: October 1, 2016. _


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